


The Fresh Prince of Mississauga

by damselette



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Mentions of Character Death, National Hockey League, alternative universe, implied panic/anxiety attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-24 03:45:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14347305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damselette/pseuds/damselette
Summary: A cough comes from behind and Dylan raises his hand automatically, waiting for a handshake that he thinks shouldn’t be any different than others.“Connor McDavid,” he, Connor, says, as he shakes Dylan’s hand.It’s almost like he thinks Dylan won’t know him. Which, like, this is Canada, not Australia so of course, Dylan does.“I know,” Dylan replies, shaking his hand. A rush of warmth goes through him, again and really, who knew a gaze and a handshake from a specific person could be different from a hundred others?Connor smiles, and wow, is it nice. Could anyone please teach Dylan how to smile like that?“It’s a pleasure to meet you, your highness,” Connor says, letting go.Dylan bites back the urge to grab his hand again. “No,” he starts. “The pleasure is all mine.”





	The Fresh Prince of Mississauga

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. It is not meant to be a representation of who these people actually are and how they act towards one another, simply a figment of my hyperactive imagination.
> 
> IT IS NOT MEANT TO REPRESENT REAL LIFE SYSTEMS. As you will later read, this story involves the concept of kings and queens (a monarchy) in Canada. This is not true in real life so please do not believe that this is how Canada is actually run (it is actually run by a parliament with a Prime Minister). This story also involves the NHL. For the purposes of this story I have taken artistic liberties with their season and their season schedule. This is not what is happening in real life nor is it remotely close.
> 
> WARNINGS: There is a very brief mention of very minor (OC) character deaths. There is also some instances in which it seems as though a character is having a panic or anxiety attack but it is not stated in this way because the character does not recognize it as such. The scenes in which these happen are very short and not very detailed but just be aware that they are there

 

It really all starts with Ryan. Or, well, Ryan’s inability to say no to John. Dylan can’t really fault him for it since he’s been on the other end of John’s serious, I-can’t-do-this-without-you-please-we’re-in-this-together stare, and, well, it’s pretty convincing.

Dylan just never thought it’d be convincing enough to make Ryan give up the crown.

Which is where Dylan finds himself now.

“Please tell me you aren’t serious,” he begs as he grips the phone tighter in his hand. The edges are starting to dig into his palm, and really, he’s surprised he hasn’t dropped it with how much he’s been sweating since the call started.

 

“Dyls,” Ryan starts, “I’m sorry. I really am. But this is my life now, you know? I can’t just get up and leave. I’ve invested way too much to just stop now."

"What about me? Dylan thinks, what about everything I’ve invested in?

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” Ryan says, the understatement of the year, really, “but please, give it some thought. If you ever decide you can’t do it, well, there’s always Matty,” Ryan finishes, voice quivering for the first time since he called.

Dylan shuts his eyes, phone edges continuing to dig into his palm. He exhales, slow and hard. He thinks of school, of hockey, the media, his dad, his mom, and god, Matt. What would Matt do if Dylan couldn’t do it?

He feels his heart ringing in his ears. He breathes in, then out, and slowly releases his grip on the phone.

 

“No.” Dylan says, and he can hear Ryan’s sharp intake of breath. “I’ll do it.”

 

There’s nothing but silence on the other end for a while until Ryan finally asks, “You sure? No need to think about it some more? Just like that?”

 

“Just like that.” Dylan says. And just like that, Dylan officially becomes first in line to the Crown of Canada.

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

Dylan’s always known they were different. No kid has two adults, who aren’t even related to them, follow them around, all the time, everywhere they go. By all the time, Dylan really means all the time.

At first, Dylan never really noticed it but as he got older and went to school, he realized that two adults following you around wasn’t really something anyone else had. Instead, it made him different and other kids stopped playing with him when they realized someone was always there to possibly tell on them. It really took the fun out of pranks.

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

“I know you love hockey, dear, but this is the country we’re talking about,” his mom says over the phone.

Ryan’s on a road trip in California and can’t fly over to Toronto, where they are, just to have an in-person conversation with their mother. Thank god video calling was invented or else he would’ve had to.

On the screen Ryan turns red and looks away, which, good, because Dylan might’ve agreed to step up and take his place, but that doesn’t make it suck any less.

 

“Mom, we already talked about this. I’ve already made this far, why stop now?” Ryan says, voice wavering over the connection.

“To serve your country, Ryan Edward Strome, that’s why,” his mom says scathingly.

This time, Ryan looks straight at her. “I can serve it by playing hockey. You know, the national sport?” he replies, fear gone.

Dylan snorts. “The national winter sport, you mean.”

 

“See!” Ryan exclaims smugly. “He knows more than I do. It’ll be fine, mom. You’ll see. Dylan will make a great heir apparent.”

“I guess he’ll have to” mom says, subdued.

And, just like that, the topic is dropped.

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

The announcement drops on a Sunday. It’s all anyone talks about for the next month, which really, doesn’t anyone have anything else better to do with their time?

“You’re the prince. You’re going to rule the country, of course it’s all anyone’s talking about,” Mikey says, resigned.

 

He’s been logging serious hours listening to Dylan talk about the whole thing. Dylan wonders if there’s a professor out there who’ll take that and let Mikey use it for extra credit, or something. Dylan doesn’t really know how the whole college thing works since –

Well –

“I guess,” Dylan mumbles slowly. It’s hard, the whole prince thing.

Dylan wonders if maybe, just maybe, there was any way to both be a prince and go to college. But really, if being a prince was already this hard, how can he do anything else?

 

“Look, just try it. Talk to your mom, yeah? If Ryan can do it, so can you,” Mikey says. It’s only then Dylan realizes he’s said all that out loud. He flushes even though he knows Mikey can’t see him over the phone.

 

“Ryan didn’t really take the whole college route, Mikey.” Dylan sighs.

He thinks about the draft, how none of them had really expected Ryan to get drafted so high.

 

Mikey laughs, clear and loud even over the phone and something in Dylan’s chest gives.

He misses him.

He misses hanging out at home, or in Mikey’s house just playing video games. He misses waking up and getting to decide what he wants to do when he wants to do it.

Now, his life is scheduled. By the minute.

 

“If you aren’t gonna talk to your mom about it, I will. You know I will. Chill out, alright? You’ve only been heir for like, a week,” Mikey reminds him.

Dylan smiles. For the first time that week, he feels okay.

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

He does not feel okay.

His hands are shaking at his sides and the water’s still running above him.

There’s just so much to do. People to see, people to talk to, people whose hands he needs to shake.

He can’t help the tiny black spot in his heart forming for Ryan. It’s been growing, slowly, and he really doesn’t want it to but god, he really hates it sometimes.

When Ryan become Prince, he made a deal with their mom that he would give up hockey at 25 and focus on his duties to the crown. His mom agreed since she had always wanted them to have a normal life, royalty aside. Then, his mom became Queen, and Ryan, Heir Apparent. Ryan had six months to transition out of hockey.

Now, Dylan thinks bitterly, he doesn’t have to.

 

He scrubs at his hair a little too harshly, and out come a bunch of strands.

 

Dylan blinks down at his hands where the loose hair is tangled. He takes a breath, and lets it go.

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

One of the things he has to do is meet every major royal or politician that’s got ties, alliances, or treaties with Canada. That’s how he meets Prince Auston Matthews.

 

“Nice to meet you,” Dylan says as he shakes Prince Auston’s hand.

 

“You too,” Prince Auston replies. He’s got a solid grip, Dylan thinks, and could’ve played a sport.

 

“I did,” comes the reply. Dylan blinks slowly. He’s really got to stop saying his every waking thought out loud.

 

Prince Auston laughs and he does so with his whole body, clothes wrinkling when he does. “I played baseball and hockey," he says.

 

“In Arizona?” Dylan exclaims in surprise.

 

“Yeah,” Prince Auston says, staring straight at him.

 

“No way. I play hockey. My brothers and I,” Dylan shares, smiling.

 

“I know. I watched your brother play, though, I didn’t know he was a Prince at the time,” Prince Auston replies honestly.

 

“It’s ok. We weren’t a big deal back then,” Dylan admits, the tiny black spot heart in his heart unfurling and hurting.

 

“What’s it like? The NHL?” Prince Auston asks, a wistful look in his eye, and oh, man, does Dylan know what that feels like.

 

“It’s good. He, Ryan, loves it,” Dylan begins, telling him about Ryan and all the stories he has of him. Once he gets started, he doesn’t really stop until Brent taps his shoulder and tells him they need to go.

Sometime during that conversation, Prince Auston has become just Auston, and the tiny black spot in his heart is gone.

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

A call comes for him through official channels. Dylan doesn’t really know what that means, or how it gets through, but he takes the phone from the Brent’s hands.

 

“Hello?” he says warily. He really doesn’t want to talk politics right now, especially not right after his politics lessons, one of the many he has to take now.

 

“Hey, it’s Auston,” comes the reply. Dylan stands up straighter.

“How’d you get this number?”

 

“Official channels. I asked around. You could do it too, you know,” Auston says, amused.

 

Dylan blinks. He did not know that. He makes note.

 

“Ok. You called to tell me this?” he questions, unsure. He knew he made an impression on Auston, but he didn’t realize it made them phone buddies now.

 

“No, I’m coming over to Toronto next week and I was wondering if you wanted to take me to a hockey game.” He says it casually, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on Dylan.

 

“And why, would I want to take you to a hockey game?” Dylan asks, confused. Is there something he missed or said when they met that he doesn’t remember?

 

“There’s someone on the team I want to meet and you’re the only one who can take me to one without it looking like I ‘support the enemy’ or whatever.”

 

Ah, now Dylan gets it.

 

“Look,” Dylan starts, “It’s not Canada’s fault we play better hockey than all the other American teams.”

 

Auston laughs. Dylan can practically feel him rolling his eyes, he knows he would. “Can you take me to a hockey game or not? If not I’ll get someone else to do it.”

As if Dylan would let anyone else take the Prince of America to a hockey game. The scandal.

 

He rolls his eyes, “Which game do you wanna see?”

 

“Toronto vs Edmonton.”

 

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll let you know through official channels, yeah?” Dylan promises.

 

“Sounds good,” Auston says, hanging up.

 

Dylan waves an aide over and hands them the phone. He pulls out his personal one and starts up a text.

 

It’s the first text he’s sent in months since he became Prince.

Dylan: Yo, any chances you could hook me up with some free tix?

Marns: !!!

Marns: Dude

Marns: Duh

Marns: Wait, aren’t you a prince now? You get to sit in the royal box

Marns: Also, wth dude it’s been months!!!

Marns: crying emoji I can’t believe I’ve been blessed to receive a text from the Prince hearteyes

Dylan rolls his eyes. Classic Marns. Overdramatic as always.

Dyls: I’ll let you know if we sit in the royal box or not.

Dyls: meet me after your game though?

Marns: Dude cmon

Marns: Is that even a question

Marns: wait which game?

Dyls: Toronto vs Edmonton

Marns: !!!

A buzzing begins in his hand and Drake’s “The Motto” starts blasting from his phone. Dylan can see his security guards side eye each other. It’s been months since that ringtone called and it used to call him every day.

He presses answer and holds it up his ear, ducking out from the hallway to one of the study rooms.

 

A screech fills his ears. Dylan pulls it away from his ear immediately.

 

“Marns,” he starts, “I kinda need my hearing if I wanna serve the country at my full capacity.”

 

“It’s been months! Months!” Mitch chastises.

 

“I know,” Dylan sighs. “I’ve been busy.”

 

Really, he has.

 

“Too busy for me, I see,” Mitch says jokingly, but Dylan can tell he’s hurt. A pang of guilt hits Dylan in the chest.

 

“Nah, I’ve always got time for you, Mitchy. Prince or not,” Dylan promises, and he swears he can feel Mitch smile over the phone.

 

“So, please tell me that in your hey-im-first-in-line-to-the-throne-now-tour you haven’t met Connor McDavid.”

 

“I haven’t met Connor McDavid,” Dylan says robotically.

 

“Good,” Mitch says, pleased. “I am looking forward to introducing you two. You’re coming to the game right, for sure?”

 

“Yeah,” Dylan says, not really sure, but he’ll make it work even if it means taking his lessons at four in the morning, “For sure.”

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

“So,” Dylan starts, hands behind his back, trying to look as innocent as possible. “Prince Auston Matthews is supposed to be in Toronto next week and I was wondering if I could take him to the Toronto vs Edmonton game.”

 

The writing stops and his mom looks up at him from her desk.

 

“That sounds like a good idea,” she replies, eyes looking straight at him.

 

Dylan flushes and looks down even though he shouldn’t because really, he hasn’t done anything wrong.

 

“Whose idea was this?” she asks, with an eyebrow raised. Really, his mom knows him too well.

 

“Both of ours since, Auston, uh, Prince Auston, likes hockey. Too,” God, can Dylan get any more suspicious?

 

“Well,” his mom says smiling as she gets back to her paperwork. Paperwork that will soon be Dylan’s. “Tell Mitch I say hello and send his family my regards.”

 

“I will,” Dylan says, excited and relieved.

 

**.**

**.**

**.**

 

Auston meets him at the ACC, entourage in tow. Dylan doesn’t really know if bodyguards count as an entourage but given how much more of them Auston has in comparison to Dylan’s, he’ll count them.

“Hey,” he says, waving his hand.

 

Auston waves back, face questioning as he looks at Dylan then himself.

 

“Why so dressed up?” Auston asks, referring to Dylan’s royal uniform, the one with all the pins and regalia on it, sash and all.

 

“Had to move some things on the schedule around so I’m wearing this to save time. I’m going straight to a knighting after this.” Dylan shrugs. It isn’t too bad, going out in his full get up. He definitely gets a lot more stares, but he thinks he’s slowly getting used to it.

 

Auston nods. He looks pretty comfortable in a trench coat, actually, which, “A trench coat, Matthews? Really?” Dylan teases.

 

“Can’t be seen with a jersey or else Arizona will disown me.” Auston laughs. Dylan does too, even if he thinks Auston would look good in Toronto blue.

 

“Seems like you’ve got a favorite state.” Dylan says as they walk up to the royal box.

 

“Well, it’s where I was raised so, yeah.” Auston says, laughing.

 

One of the Leafs’ management opens the door to the box and it’s pretty decked out even though the only people who ever use it are the royal family and any visiting heads of state.

 

It’s on top of the owner’s box and has an impressive view of the ice, as well as the whole stadium.

 

Dylan picks out Marn’s number easily against the sheet of ice even though his eye is drawn to someone else who has an equally recognizable number.

“Who’d you want to see?” Dylan remembers to ask as he and Auston sit.

 

“What?” Auston asks, confused.

 

“You said that there was someone you wanted to meet on the team. That’s why you wanted to come, right? Who is it?” Dylan asks

Auston slowly schools his face and looks away from Dylan to the ice below.

 

“Just someone from the team,” Auston says vaguely.

 

Dylan grins, so that’s how it’s going to be then.

 

“Which team?” he continues.

 

“You aren’t going to let this go, are you?” Auston says, looking back at him.

 

“Nope,” Dylan says, shaking his head and grinning at him.

 

Auston sighs and says, “Mitch Marner.”

 

Wow, and here Dylan thought his day wasn’t going to get any better.

 

“You came all the way to Toronto to meet Mitch Marner?” Dylan asks, surprised.

 

Auston doesn’t blush, but he comes very close. The tips of Auston’s ears turn red and so does his neck.

 

“I didn’t come all the way to Toronto just to meet Mitch Marner,” Auston mumbles.

 

Dylan laughs. “Whatever you say, man.”

 

Auston shifts in his seat to get a better view. “I’ve never seen McDavid play live before,” he says, changing the topic.

 

“Me neither,” Dylan admits, a little disappointed at the fact.

 

Auston looks at him, surprised. “Isn’t he Canada’s favorite golden child? How have you two never met?”

 

Dylan rolls his eyes. “I’ve literally only been crown prince for a couple months, prince for less than a year. Before that, I was supposed to go to U of T to study Stats, no royal obligations besides bodyguards.”

 

Auston looks at him, and Dylan can tell where this conversation is going.

 

“I’m sorry,” Auston says. “It really sucked, what happened to your family.”

 

Dylan huffs, and waves a hand at him. “It’s fine. I’m over it. We’re over it. Life goes on and all that.”

 

Auston looks at him before he nods and jerks his head towards the ice. “Who’s gonna win, you think?”

 

“Leafs, duh.” Dylan responds, grinning. “3-2.”

 

“No way,” Auston chirps back, “Oilers. 2-1”

 

It’s a close game. In the end, Oilers win it in OT with the score being 3-2.

 

Dylan makes note to tell Marns what he thinks of his assist in the 2nd but he’s pretty sure Auston’s got that one covered.

 

“How long do we have until you have to go?” Auston asks him, referring to the knighting.

 

“Good question.” Dylan agrees, “Brent, how long do we have until I have to go?”

 

A bearded man dressed in a suit checks his watch. “As long as we leave right after meeting the teams, we should be good,” he confirms.

 

Dylan smiles and stands. “Ready?” he asks Auston.

 

Auston smiles back. “Yeah.”

 

They make their way down the ACC, avoiding the crowd of people leaving it and wait in one of rooms for to media to leave as well.

Dylan grimaces. He knows how important the media is but he doesn’t like them as much as his mother says he should. From the look on Auston’s face, he feels the same.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes, and a second later, Mitch’s ringtone starts blasting.

 

Auston jumps, surprised. “Is that you?”

 

“Yeah,” Dylan nods, answering the call.

 

“Where are you?” Mitch whines.

 

As if on cue, his guards open the doors, and a member of Leafs management is leading both the Leafs and the Oilers to the room that they’re in.

 

“Dyls!” Mitch yells, nearly jumping on him.

 

Thankfully, he settles for jumping next to him and not ruining Dylan’s uniform.

 

Dylan lets Mitch pull him into a hug before he remembers that Auston’s right next to him.

 

“Mitch,” Dylan says as they pull apart. “This is Auston Matthews. Prince of the United States of America. But, really, he’d prefer to be known as the Prince of Arizona.”

 

Auston punches him arm and Dylan turns to see him red. He was right, this day’s going great.

 

“Hi,” Auston says shyly, offering his hand up for Mitch to shake.

 

“Mitch Marner.” Mitch says seriously, which is something Dylan didn’t even realize he could be capable of. “Nice to meet you.” Someone coughs. Mitch turns red as he says, “Your majesty.”

 

It goes like that for a while. Dylan and Auston standing next to each other as they meet each player and shake their hands.

Dylan makes sure to say a comment specific to each player, such as ‘I really liked your breakaway in the 3rd’ to Zach Hyman, but when it comes time to meet the player he’s been most looking forward to meeting, Dylan finds himself at a loss for words. Or maybe it’s just that there’s too much to say?

 

Dylan squirms under the stare, which really, he should be used to by now but somehow this gaze feels different than the rest. He can feel himself turn red, first in his ears and then all the way down his body where no one can see it underneath the heavy pieces pinned to his clothing, shielding him like armor, and yet, Dylan feels so vulnerable.

 

Brown eyes meet his, and it’s stupid because even if their eye colors are the same, he feels like the shade of brown staring back at him is one that’s better and brighter.

 

A cough comes from behind and Dylan raises his hand automatically, waiting for a handshake that he thinks shouldn’t be any different than others.

 

“Connor McDavid,” he, Connor, says, as he shakes Dylan’s hand.

It’s almost like he thinks Dylan won’t know him. Which, like, this is Canada, not Australia so of course, Dylan does.

 

“I know,” Dylan replies, shaking his hand. A rush of warmth goes through him, again and really, who knew a gaze and a handshake from a specific person could be different from a hundred others?

 

Connor smiles, and wow, is it nice. Could anyone please teach Dylan how to smile like that?

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, your highness,” Connor says, letting go.

 

Dylan bites back the urge to grab his hand again. “No,” he starts. “The pleasure is all mine.”

 

Mitch appears behind Connor, hand on his shoulder. “McJesus, this is Stromer. You know, the guy I was talking to you about?”

 

Seriously, Mitch? Dylan hopes he isn’t turning any redder.

 

“All good things, I hope,” Dylan chimes, unsure of where to put his hands. No other place would feel as great as it did that handshake. When did Dylan turn into such a sap?

 

Connor laughs and Dylan isn’t religious, but he’d like to thank whoever is up there for giving him this moment.

 

“Yeah. Mitch talks about you a lot. I just didn’t realize Stromer and Prince Dylan were the same person. Mitch never said he knew a Prince,” Connor admits a little sheepishly.

Dylan glances at Mitch who’s trying to look as innocent as possible. Smiling, Dylan decides it’s time to push back.

“Well, now Mitch knows two. Right, Auston?” Dylan says, jabbing an elbow to Auston’s side.

 

To his credit, Auston doesn’t even flinch. He does, however, keep sporting the same red on his ears and neck that Dylan’s come to realize is Auston’s version of blushing.

If they weren’t indoors, with the heating on, Dylan would simply think Auston was cold.

 

“You played well today.” Auston says. It’s meant to be for all the players present but really, all Auston’s looking at is Mitch.

 

Dylan’s just glad he isn’t the only royal hot mess that exists. A hand finds itself on Dylan’s shoulder and Dylan looks back to see Joe, his main bodyguard, point to Brent, his partner.

 

They both have beards, are in suits, and carry a weapon at all times. Sometimes, Dylan wonders if they think he’s as much of a mess as he thinks he is.

 

“We need to go or you’ll be late, your highness,” Joe reminds him.

 

Dylan nods and looks back at Connor, Mitch and the rest of their teams.

 

“Thanks for having us. Good game tonight. Hope to catch the next one,” Dylan says, waving goodbye.

 

Auston looks at him for the first time since Mitch walked in the room, and waves a hand. “See you before I leave Toronto?”

 

Dylan nods. “Call me, yeah? Personal, not official, because I’ve got that phone with me at all times.”

 

Then, Dylan sees an opportunity and grabs it.

 

“Hey, Marns,” Dylan calls out, and Mitch looks up from whatever stare off he’d been having with Connor.

 

“Yeah?” Mitch asks, curious.

 

“Send me Auston’s number, will you? We’ve got to go,” Dylan says, shrugging.

 

“Yeah, sure. Hey, want mine too so we can smacktalk Dylan?” Mitch says, pulling up his phone.

 

“I’m still here, you know,” Dylan responds. Auston’s eyes widen at him as Dylan turns to leave and Dylan mentally pats himself on the back.

 

Matchmaker Prince? Prince of Matchmakers? Matchmaker for Princes? Mikey was right, Dylan can be other things than just being a Prince. Maybe Dylan should look into the whole college thing again, after all.

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

He’s already received a text from Auston saying, “This is Auston” when he gets a text from another unknown number. He eyes it warily, wondering if he should tell security, until a text pops up from Marns.

 

Marns: gave your number out

Dylan presses the text notification and slides it open.

 

Dyls: wtf marns?

Marns: don’t worry he’s like one of the most trustworthy ppl I know

Dyls: who’d you give my number to?

Marns: go find out

Dylan huffs, annoyed, and exits out of their chat and into the one from the unknown number

 

???: hey

???: idk if I’m supposed to have your # but marns gave it to me

Dyls: Who is this?

???: oh yeah, right, sorry. It’s Connor

 

Dylan blinks, surprised. He turns around seeing if his security’s pulling a prank on him but they’re just standing, not one phone in sight other than his.

 

???: mcdavo

???: *mcdavid

Dyls: whoops, too late, i’m saving your contact in my phone as davo now

???: what do i save you as?

Dyls: whatever, man

Dyls: why’d marns give you my number?

 

It’s a stupid question because Dylan knows, but he really hopes Connor doesn’t. That’d be embarrassing. Dylan thinks he’d die if Connor knew and really, death by embarrassment, Dylan’s mom would be so disappointed. Matt would laugh over his grave. Ryan, too, if Dylan really thinks about it.

Dylan saves his number as Davo on his phone.

 

Davo: he said he thought we’d make good friends

Dyls: do you?

Dyls: think we’d make good friends?

And, shit, why did Dylan send that? Does he really want to know?

 

“Your majesty, it’s time for dinner,” Joe reminds him. His security’s too good for him, reminding him to eat and not be late for things. Dylan should talk his mom into giving them a raise. Dylan nods and pockets his phone, turning it on silent.

The question still haunts him though, does he really want to know?

The whole time he’s sitting across his mom, talking about how his lessons are going, the phone burns a hole in his pocket. Matt’s looking at him curiously, and Dylan wonders how red he is right now for Matt to stare at him like that.

 

When the plates are put away, a silence ensues. “I’m glad your lessons are going well. Your tutors have been saying nothing but good things about you,” Mom says, smiling.

 

All Dylan can think about is whether Connor’s responded.

 

“Dylan?” Mom asks. Matt kicks him from under the table, which, one, ow, and two, how? The table’s like six feet wide.

 

“Yeah. Me too,” Dylan responds, glaring at Matt who smiles back.

 

Mom can clearly tell something’s going on but she lets it go and gets up. “Well, I hope you keep it up.”

 

“Same,” Dylan says automatically. That does it for Matt apparently as he bursts out laughing.

 

“Matt,” His mom warns.

 

“You know, for a prince, you’re pretty lame,” Matt grins.

 

“Look who’s talking,” Dylan snarks back.

 

Dad shakes his head. “Boys.”

 

Mom laughs and they leave the dining hall.

 

Dylan gets up and walks back to his room with Matt, whose room is right across from his.

 

“Are we ever gonna talk about it?” Matt asks, hands in his pocket. Dylan looks at him and it’s painfully obvious how young Matt still is.

 

How young Dylan still is.

 

“Talk about what?” Dylan asks.

 

“Ryan. The whole I don’t want to be prince anymore thing,” Matt’s looking at him, waiting.

 

“What’s there to talk about?” Dylan says looking down. He knows where Matt’s getting at. There’s so much to talk about, but there isn’t really point in talking about them now is there?

 

“Well,” Matt says awkwardly, and Dylan feels bad, he’s supposed to be the older one. “I’m here if you ever decide that there is something to talk about.”

 

Dylan nods. “Thanks Matt.”

 

Matt smiles and Dylan goes into his room.

 

Once the door closes, Dylan presses his back against it and sits down. It’s a lot, and everyone talks about it like it’s supposed to be this wonderful thing. How can Dylan say otherwise without sounding ungrateful and spoiled?

 

The phone makes a thud, hitting the door as it slips out of his pocket. Dylan grabs it, and suddenly it feels a hundred times heavier than Dylan ever thought it’d be.

 

Breathing in, Dylan unlocks it. A picture of him and his grandma greets him. Dylan smiles before he strengthens his resolve and opens his messages.

 

There’s a bunch from Marns, of course. A couple of Mikey, again, nothing unusual there. Then, some from Connor.

 

Dylan opens it and the thread pops up.

 

Davo: I do

Davo: Think that we’d be good friends

Davo: only if you want to be

And, god, Dylan does.

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

Auston leaves the next day and so, as is customary, Dylan sends him off. It’s all the usual politics and niceties. Hope you’ve had a great time in our country, come again, please keep on signing treaties and alliances with us!

All it does is remind Dylan why he chose to major within the field of math.

 

Or, well, apply to major. All he’s really done is be a prince. Except they don’t give out diplomas for that.

 

“See you soon, I hope,” Dylan wishes as he shakes Auston goodbye.

 

“Thanks for taking me to the game,” Auston says, smiling.

 

Dylan grins at him,.“You came to Toronto just for Mitch Marner.”

 

Auston looks away, turning red, again. “You can’t prove otherwise.”

 

“I better be invited to the wedding, Matthews,” Dylan says.

 

Auston chooses to ignore him and board his plane. Dylan laughs. It’s okay, he thinks, if Auston won’t invite him, Mitch will.

 

Without really thinking about it, Dylan opens the text thread he’s got with Connor. There isn’t really anything there except Dylan’s question and Connor’s reply. Dylan decides to take the first step. Connor said he wanted to be friends with him. That’s got to mean something, right?

Dyls: do you think i’ll be invited to mitch and auston’s wedding?

Davo: hahaha wouldnt mitch be technically committing treason since he’s marrying an american?

Davo: also i dont think they’re dating yet??

Dyls: they will soon and once they do it’ll be like an avalanche

Dyls: their love is too strong to be contained

Davo: is this what you learn at prince lessons? Matchmaking?

Dylan blinks, surprised which brings him back to,

Dyls: how do you know about the lessons? And yes, if mitch marries auston then canada and the usa will be together forever

Davo: canada and the usa are already on the same continent

Davo: and mitch told me

Davo: he said, and i quote, “Hey, there’s someone more high strung than you and it’s my friend, stromer.”

Dyls: huh

Davo: which pressure is greater? Being ‘hockey jesus’ or prince of canada

Dyls: no way dude

Dyls: hockey cannot even be compared to what i go through everyday. I think id rather play hockey

Davo: we were supposed to play together, you know.

Dyls: what?

Davo: erie otters.

How is Dylan supposed to respond to that? He racks his brain, trying to come up with a response that doesn’t sound too depressing when a text comes in.

Davo: i guess since we still met, we’re meant to be

Dylan doesn’t know what Connor’s playing at here, if he’s just being nice or actually hinting at something. Whatever it is, it makes Dylan’s breathe catch and he stares at the phone wondering if he’s dreaming.

Snapping out of it, Dylan opens his text thread with Marns.

Dyls: What’d you tell connor about me?

Marns: ooohh, it’s just connor, now, huh?

Dyls: seriously marns, what’d you say

Marns: nothing.

Marns: Well, not nothing, obvi

Marns: just how competitive you are,your love of stats, the poster you have of him on your wall..

Dyls: Marns!

Marns: i kid, i kid.

Marns: i just told him about the best friendship in the gta: stromer and marner

Marns: Why, what’s up?

Marns: you putting the moves on him? He putting the moves on you?

Dyls: You’re annoying. Why are we friends

Marns: to tag team people on COD

Mitch has a point and because Dylan doesn’t want to answer any of his questions, Dylan leaves him be. He switches back to his text thread with Connor and begins a reply.

Dyls: two of the most powerful people in canada: the prince and hockey jesus

Dyls: with great power comes great responsibility

Davo: maybe we should meet up some more, get people to get used to the idea that we can do fun, normal things too.

Dylan raises an eyebrow. Did he come across as easy? Was there a sign following him around saying : “NEEDS MORE HUMAN INTERACTION AND NON ROYAL ACTIVITIES” ?

Biting his lip, Dylan hesitates before typing out -

Dyls: Maybe

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

Despite what some people may believe, the royal family does not have it easy. Dylan’s got so many officials to meet, charities to run, causes to support, bills to sign, that his planner’s booked for the next two years.

 

His mom laughs when he brings it up. She waves a hand at him as she takes a sip of her coffee. “That’s why we have people. They help remind us lest we forget.” Dylan agrees with her wholeheartedly on that front because without Joe and Brent he’d be missing more sleep than he does now.

 

“Although,” his mom continues, “If you think your schedule now is filled, wait until you become King.”

 

Dylan stares. Is it kinda wrong he forgot about that part of being a prince? The whole ascension to the throne? Would that take him out of the line of succession because if so, and Dylan stops right there.

He grabs a cookie and chews. Matt would probably make a better King than Dylan, but that doesn’t mean Dylan wants to just dump the workload and leave him to it.

Even if Dylan’s quietly forgiven Ryan in his heart, he doesn’t forget.

 

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

 

One of the many causes Dylan supports involves helping kids.

It mainly consists of him going around hospitals reading to them and sometimes helping them with their homework. Even if they’re stuck in the hospital, some kids don’t want to fall behind on learning. The thought tugs at Dylan’s heartstrings and so it’s something he always looks forward to.

 

What he wasn’t looking forward to is seeing Connor.

In front of him.

Hair stylishly messy, wearing a long sleeved henley and jeans. Dylan already thought Connor looked great in hockey gear, and now he gets to see Connor outside of that? First he gets to make kids’ day and now this? Did he save like a thousand puppies in his past life or something?

“Hey,” Connor says, smiling.

 

“Hey,” Dylan says. He’s aiming for it to sound casual but given his luck it probably sounded weird.

 

“What are you doing here?” Dylan asks, genuinely curious. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Edmonton?”

 

“It’s bye week,” Connor laughs, and is it really bye week already? Dylan’s been so busy he hasn’t really had the time to catch up on the NHL.

 

“Ryan’s involved with the cause and he roped us into doing one for our own provinces,” Connor explains.

 

“Ryan?” Dylan wonders, thinking of his own Ryan.

 

“Oh, I meant Ryan Nugent-Hopkins. My teammate,” Connor clarifies.

 

Dylan feels a vague sense of familiarity until Joe stands behind him and whispers in his ear.

 

“The Duke of Burnaby’s second son,” Dylan confirms.

 

Connor nods, hands in his pocket. He looks so cool and yet he doesn’t even try.

 

“I didn’t realize you were involved with this cause too,” Connor says, looking at him.

 

Dylan feels stripped bare, as if Connor’s seeing something Dylan himself can’t even see. Dylan hopes that whatever it is Connor’s seeing, it’s good.

 

“Yeah. It’s one of my favorite causes,” Dylan confesses.

“Want to tutor some kids with me?” He blurts out.

 

Connor looks surprised, like he wasn’t expecting Dylan to make a move.

Dylan didn’t even know he was going to make a move, so, that makes the two of them.

Connor smiles, nods, and says, “Yeah. I’d like that.”

 

One of coordinators smiles at them and leads them into a room with a table in the middle, chairs surrounding it. “The kids who want to keep studying and are well enough to move outside of their rooms go in here at the same time so they aren’t too lonely,” the coordinator says, leaving them to fetch the kids.

Dylan appreciates that they think of the kids like that. He can relate to not wanting to be lonely. Taking lessons by yourself can suck. Matt’s too young to do it with him, and by this point Dylan’s taken twice more than Ryan has.

 

He and Connor sit at opposite sides of the table, facing each other, waiting for the kids to arrive.

 

“What’d you like to study when you were in school?” Connor asks, leaning back in his chair.

 

Dylan sits straight because he’s always had a bad back and even his doctor tells him to. It’s a princely thing to do, his tutor always says whatever that means.

 

“Math,” Dylan responds, and wow, way to make conversation, Dylan.

He can feel his heart speed up so he focuses on the table instead of Connor’s beautiful face.

 

“Marns mentioned that,” Connor says, and even if Dylan isn’t looking at him, he can feel Connor’s gaze. It warms Dylan that Connor remembers something Marns said because Marns says a lot.

 

“Stats, right?” Connor asks.

Dylan’s head snaps up, this time looking Connor directly in the eyes.

 

“Marns mentioned that too,” Connor says eyes soft.

“I didn’t realize he said that much about me.” Dylan whispers. He wonders if he should be concerned that Marns is just telling people all this about him.

 

“Only to me,” Connor whispers back and Dylan realizes he’s said his thoughts out loud again.

 

Dylan flushes and looks down at the table again.

Joe and Brent don’t even need to watch tv anymore, Dylan’s life is all the reality show they need.

“Is that okay?” Connor asks. Dylan doesn’t even think that should be a question.

 

“Don’t you want to find out things about me, from me?” Dylan asks earnestly, looking at Connor.

 

Connor blinks, taken aback. Dylan soldiers on. “Maybe we should go out and get to know each other more. That way I can learn about you, from you.”

 

Dylan is glad he can’t see himself right now because he’s pretty sure he’s red all over.

 

Then, the kids arrive and offer Dylan the reprieve he needs.

 

Thankfully, it’s just basic math. Fractions and stuff like that, things Dylan can do in his sleep and backwards. He doesn’t think he can do any complex equations or standard deviations while watching Connor edit book reports and read third grade poems.

 

Later, when Dylan’s in the car on the way back to the palace, he gets a text. He and Connor didn’t really get to exchange more than goodbyes since Dylan was already running late for his lesson.

 

He pulls out his phone and opens the text thread.

 

Davo: It’s English

Davo: it’s what I liked to study the most when I was still in school

Davo: i liked it cause of the writing part, not the reading part

Dyls: I never asked you any of that

Davo: i thought you’d want to hear about me

Davo: From me

Dylan closes his phone. He can feel his stomach turn and he places a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. He gathers himself, taking a breathe, before taking his phone and typing a text.

Dyls: I have a poster of you up on my bedroom wall

Dylan hits send, and breathes out.

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

Writing essays is hard.

Writing college admission essays are even harder.

Dylan never thought he’d be back in this position, hunched over his chair, posture be damned, writing about how why he wants to get accepted into U of T. Again. Even though Ryan and Matt both told him that they’d accept the Crown Prince of Canada no matter what he wrote, Dylan still wants to be let in of his own merit and not the crown’s.

Groaning, Dylan stands up. He’s already finished the three short essays, now all he needs is the long one.

He goes through his drawers, opening each one until he finds his earphones. He plugs it into his phone and puts it in his ears as he scrolls through. Making a motivation playlist won’t write his essays for him but hopefully it’ll put him in a mood where he can.

Dylan starts walking around his room, pacing back and forth, restless.

He starts feeling unproductive so he sends u up? texts to everyone in his contacts. He gets few responses but the ones that do are hilarious to read.

PrinceOfArizona: it’s 1am here go2sleep

Dyls: its 4am here wakeup

PrinceOfArizona: i should’ve muted ur notifs a long time ago

Mikey: i have class in 2 hours, dylan

Dyls: why reply then

Mikey: to remind you to leave us poor normal people alone

Dyls: nothing about you is normal mikey

Joe: Your highness, if you are bored, please bother the night shift.

Dyls: But it isn’t night anymore. It’s 4am

Joe: The palace night shift varies but today it is until 7am.

The Best Ryan: this is why people say that canada’s prince looks like a racoon

Dyls: they were talking about you. Also, why is your name the best ryan?

The Best Ryan: Please - all these all nighters got your eyes looking like racoon eyes so its definitely you

The Best Ryan: what are you going to do when you get to college? And I changed it, duh

Dyls: if im a racoon what are you

The Best Ryan: cuter than you

Dyls: why are you up

The Best Ryan: why not

Matty: stop pacing im literally in the room right across from yours

Dyls: how can you hear me

Matty: youre as quiet as an elephant

Dyls: YoURe As qUiET as An ElEPhaNt

Matty: ThE FUtuRe oF CaNAdA evErYbODy

Dyls: why do you and ryan conspire against me

Matty: go to bed

Davo: I can’t sleep either

Dyls: why not?

Davo: took a nap earlier

Dyls: you like being home for the holidays?

Davo: Yeah. Lucky our schedule allowed it

Davo: why are you up?

Dyls: writing college admission essays

Davo: need help?

Dyls: more than you can offer

Davo: at least let me try

Dyls: Well, english was your favorite subject…

Davo: wanna tell me what it’s about?

Dyls: it’s hard to explain over text

Davo: then call me

Dyls: i dont really do calls

Davo: meet me for breakfast? You can bring your essay

 

Normally, Dylan wouldn’t agree.

Normally, Dylan would just stare at the Connor McDavid poster longingly and type, “Thanks but can’t. Busy.”

Normally, Dylan wouldn’t be obsessing over something he’s already done before. Dylan staying up until 4 in the morning, freaking out about his essays, isn’t normal though.

Dyls: meet at the 24 hr timmies closest to the palace?

It’s the first time Dylan made a move. Could this be considered a move? Before Dylan can think about it too much though, he gets a text from Davo.

Davo: omw :)

Dylan’s never thought he’d like a smiley face so much. He gets up and grabs a bag, stuffing his laptop, notebook, and pens in.

Dylan isn’t in any rush, and he’s never been the most punctual, but something in him doesn’t want to keep Connor waiting. It’s stupid, because Connor isn’t even there yet, but it doesn’t make Dylan feel any different.

He changes out of his bed clothes into sweater and jeans before heading out into the hall.

As always, there are guards in front of his and Matty’s rooms. Normally, the guards would just roam around, never staying in one place. Dylan’s parents had learned, however, that having three growing boys meant attempts to sneak out at night. That’s when the guard shifts changed and there would always be guards placed outside their rooms whenever they were in it.

Dylan waves at Matty’s guards, before heading over to his own.

“I’m heading out to Timmy’s to meet a friend,” he says as he gets closer. Joe, head of palace security, nods and moves aside to make arrangements.

Dylan, feeling obligated, pulls out his phone and informs his actual head of security.

Dyls: i’m heading out to timmy’s to meet a friend

Joe: at 4 am, your highness?

Dyls: it’s technically 5

Joe: I’m sorry, your highness, but 4:42 is not the same as 5.

Dyls: i just wanted to give you a heads up and you give me a hard time

Joe: Did you inform the night shift, your grace?

Dyls: yeah. I told Joe

Dyls: other joe. Joe P, i think?

Joe: I am Joe P, your highness. He would be Joe T.

Joe: I’ll see you at 7 am.

Dyls: kk

“Your grace,” the man who is apparently Joe T, not Joe P, murmurs through his thick beard. “Logan and Chris will be accompanying you.”

 

Dylan waves them as they come closer. Both of them are dressed down to avoid attention, and Dylan appreciates it.

 

“Hey.” he says, walking up to them. “I hope you don’t mind.”

 

“Not at all, your highness.” they reply at the same time. Dylan laughs, excited to go.

 

He practically skips the whole way to the car, and even shakes his leg the whole ride to.

Breakfast with Connor is going to be great.

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

Dylan has never been more glad to be wrong. Breakfast with Connor isn’t just great, it’s so good, Dylan doesn’t even know how he’s only had mediocre breakfasts up to this point.

Connor doesn’t just help him with his essays, he goes above and beyond. He laughs at Dylan’s lame jokes, makes Dylan laugh, edits the short essays, and offers to help out with anything else Dylan needs.

At this point, Dylan’s sure Connor’s not just human. He’s too good to be true.

Dylan’s got a theory that Connor’s also part of whatever alien race Superman is, and that he’s got whatever it is that makes people think unicorns are the greatest thing on Earth. Not that Connor needs it, because really, Connor could beat out unicorns any day in Dylan’s book.

“I think you should be good,” Connor says as he finishes editing Dylan’s poor excuse of a college admission essay.

“Really,” Connor continues, “you shouldn’t worry so much. It’s a good essay. You are more than qualified.”

 

Dylan stares at him over the second cup of coffee he’s had today. “The crown notwithstanding,” Connor says, looking past his own cup of coffee and straight at Dylan.

“Even if you weren’t the prince, you’d get in,” Connor continues, and he looks like he believes in Dylan so much.

If Dylan believed in himself as much as Connor did, he’s sure he can do so many things. Like, invent a jetpack or a flying car.

 

“Thanks,” Dylan replies, unsure of what to do with Connor’s belief and confidence in him.

 

“What are you majoring in?” Connor asks, pushing Dylan’s laptop back towards him.

 

How does Dylan reply to that without sounding like a giant nerd?

“Economics,” Dylan decides. “And stats. Or, well, that’s the plan. Economics and Stats.”

 

Connor sips his coffee and smiles. “That’s cool. I don’t know how you’re going to double major and be a prince but if anyone could do it, it’s you.”

 

“How do you have so much faith in me? You barely know me,” Dylan wonders.

It’s true. He’s put so much of his heart into a guy he barely knew because that’s how celebrity crushes work, but now, it’s different. This, Dylan realizes, hits way too close to the heart.

 

“We’ve been at this Timmie’s for the past two hours. We’ve talked about dreams, aspirations, and who we thought we were going to be by now. I want to think we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well,” Connor states.

Even if he says all this confidently, Dylan can see Connor’s uncertainty.

The browns of his eyes look anxious, as if he’s scared he’s done this all wrong. Dylan doesn’t think he’s ever thought of Connor McDavid as anything but sure.

Maybe that’s the problem.

Maybe Dylan needs to stop thinking of him as Connor McDavid, hockey extraordinaire. He needs to separate the celebrity crush from the friend. Dylan needs to treat Connor McDavid like he wants people to treat him.

Dylan wants people to see him, the person, and not the title. All that Connor has done, so why can’t Dylan do the same?

 

Dylan reaches out, putting his hand on top of Connor’s. It’s warm, just like Dylan has known it would be. Connor looks surprised, but he smiles and opens his hand upward. Dylan takes it and places his fingers in between Connor’s. Their hands fit, warm and reassuring.

 

“You know me better than I know me and you’ve only known me for three months,” Dylan smiles.

 

“I wish I knew you earlier,” Connor admits, flushing.

Dylan laughs. “I’m glad you didn’t. I was a mess. Actually, I still am.”

 

“I’m here. Whenever, wherever, whatever,” Connor promises.

 

“Me too. Whenever, wherever, whatever.” Dylan promises back. Their hands are still holding each other tight. It feels like someone’s dumped super glue onto their friendship. Dylan hopes it’s true.

“Within reason, of course. I won’t commit treason for you,” Dylan says, only half joking.

Connor laughs, teeth white and eyes shining. “If I ever do, Sidney would get to me before you.”

 

Of course Connor is on a first name basis with Sidney Crosby, of course.

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

Every year, his family turns the pond in the back of the palace into an ice rink, and that’s where they were.

“Maybe you should change your title from Prince of Canada to Prince of Pining,” Mikey says, tying the laces of his skates.

Mikey is back for Winter Break, and Connor is gone. Break over, continuing to fight for a playoff spot. Mikey is a poor replacement.

 

“If anyone deserves that title, it’s Auston,” Dylan says, weary. Dylan can barely keep up with his own emotional drama, he does not need Auston’s on top of it.

Mikey stands and looks at him, confused. That’s when Dylan remembers how much Mikey has missed by going to college in the US.

 

“It’s a long story,” Dylan offers, stepping onto the fresh ice and skating backwards because he can.

“I’ve got time,” Mikey shrugs, skating after him.

 

“Well,” Dylan starts, skating properly this time. “Remember Marns?”

 

“Mitch Marner. Pee wee hockey. The guy whose guts you hated when you still played but later on realized he was cool after he helped you beat Ryan at beer pong.” Mikey summarizes, and huh, maybe he isn’t as far behind on news as Dylan thought.

 

“How’d you know about that?” Dylan asks, referring to how he and Marns became friends.

 

“Dude,” Mikey laughs, “Ryan wouldn’t stop whining about it for days.”

 

Sometimes, Dylan forgets he isn’t the only Strome Mikey is close to. However, Dylan’s pretty sure he’s Mikey’s favorite.

 

“Right. So, Mitch, is the reason Auston came to Toronto,” Dylan continues. Beside him, Mikey stops skating. Dylan turns back to look at him. Even confused, Mikey looks good. Dylan wishes he looked like that. Confused Dylan looks like a racoon, or so Ryan tells him.

 

“Auston Matthews, Prince of the United States?” Mikey asks. Dylan nods, confirming. “Huh. Weird,” Mikey confirms, beginning to skate beside Dylan again.

 

They do that for a while, skating beside each other. Sometimes they race or see who can spin better, but they’re good just skating in comfortable silence.

 

Eventually, Dylan decides Mikey’s had enough time to process, so he continues.

 

“When Auston went to the game with me, I got Auston and Mitch to trade numbers. Next thing I know, my phone’s blowing up with texts from Mitch,” Dylan says as he gets off the ice. Mikey trails after him, listening.

 

“Apparently he and Auston are now text buddies. Mitch is confused on how to text royalty so he asks me for advice,” Before Mikey can open his mouth to ask, Dylan beats him to it. “I don’t count as royalty, Mitch says, cause I haven’t been as exposed to it as much Auston.”

 

“Isn’t Auston Matthews second in line to the throne, after his sister?” Mikey asks, amused.

 

“Yes! He doesn’t even have to do as much as I do but Mitch says his job is more important because he’s from a bigger country. Mitch is lucky I didn’t call him out on his treason,” Dylan huffs.

Mikey is laughing now, and Dylan gets it. If he wasn’t so involved with Auston and Mitch, he’d be laughing too.

“Anyway,” Dylan says over Mikey’s laughter. “He and Auston are going to meet up after the Leafs game against the Coyotes at Arizona. Guess who texts me today, the day before the game? Auston! He’s freaking out because he has no idea where to take Mitch for a late dinner. He asked me for advice. Me, who has never been to Arizona, ever,” Dylan finishes.

Mikey sits down next him and starts to take off his skates. “Wow,” Mikey says, “Who knew there would be someone worse than you?”

 

Dylan regrets the day he ever thought of Mikey McLeod as a supportive friend, because clearly all he’s good for is chirping and gathering blackmail material on Dylan.

 

“You’re useless,” Dylan groans, putting his normal shoes on.

 

“No, that’d be you Mr.-Ive-Never-Been-To-Arizona,” Mikey reminds, laughing and doing the same.

 

“I hope you never write a tell-all about me,” Dylan mumbles, standing up.

 

“Don’t worry, Connor McDavid would buy all the copies,” Mikey says, grinning.

 

Dylan groans as his face flushes.

It seems that whenever anyone mentions Connor McDavid, whether it be in the context of hockey or something else, Dylan turns red and feels warm all over.

 

Did Connor give him a love potion or something? Is that why Dylan can’t get him out of his head? If anything, Connor doesn’t need it because Dylan seems to be doing the whole i-have-more-than-friends-feelings-for-you just fine on his own, no love potion required.

 

“He’s just too good. Too good for hockey, too good for me,” Dylan says as he and Mikey start walking back to the palace.

 

“I think you’re putting him on a pedestal, Dyls,” Mikey says, bumping their shoulders together.

 

“I’m trying not to,” Dylan confesses. “I’ve been trying so hard to separate him from the guy whose poster is up on my wall.”

 

“Good. I’m sure he’s also trying to separate you from the guy who wears crowns,” Mikey says reassuringly.

 

“I think I really like him, Mikey,” Dylan says, hesitant and scared. He hasn’t told anyone that, even though he’s sure it can be seen from space.

 

“I know, Dylan,” Mikey says, smiling. “I think he likes you too.”

 

“Just because you go to Princeton, doesn’t mean you’re always right,” Dylan chirps, nervous. How would Mikey even know what Connor feels anyway? He’s never met him. “I can tell.” Mikey shrugs.

They reach the palace and walk towards the kitchens.

 

When they get there, their moms are huddled together, bonding over hot cocoa and catching up. Their dads are watching a game, joking as they eat chips from a bowl. Matt and Ryan, Mikey’s brother, are playing video games the next room over. The fire is lit and the smell of cookies overpower Dylan’s nose.

Dylan breathes it in and smiles, knowing it’s the closest thing to normal he’ll get in a while.

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

Dylan gets a letter in the mail the day the Oilers make it into the playoffs. The letter is stamped and sealed from the University of Toronto. He can’t find it in him to open it.

“What do you mean you can’t open it?” Ryan says when Dylan calls him about it. “You’ve got two hands and ten fingers, don’t you?”

Dylan is seriously considering changing his speed dial and taking Ryan out of it. He hangs up and calls Mikey, who promptly tells him the same thing.

Clearly, no one is on Dylan’s side here.

He’s about ready to throw the letter in his drawer and forget about it when Connor calls him.

Dylan smiles as he answers it. “What’s up, hot shot?” he says, happily.

 

“We made it!” Connor yells into the phone. Dylan laughs, not minding one bit. “You basically dragged your team there by the power of your will.”

 

“It was a team effort,” Connor says, parroting what he said to the media earlier.

 

“I’m happy for you. I hope you crush the Ducks,” Dylan says, honest.

 

“Thanks, me too,” Connor says, hopeful. “What about you? Any news on your end?”

 

Dylan hesitates, but decides, why not? “I got a letter in the mail from UoT today.”

 

“No way!” Connor shouts excitedly. “Did you open it?”

 

“No. I don’t know if I want to,” Dylan admits, staring at the unopened letter on his desk.

 

Connor hums over the phone, and Dylan wonders why he isn’t out celebrating with his team.

 

“Why don’t you want to?” Connor asks quietly.

 

“What if I don’t get in?” Dylan whispers shakily. “What if I do but the only reason is because of my title?”

 

“Dyls,” Connor sighs. It’s the first time Connor’s shortened his name, usually preferring to call him Dylan or Stromer, a habit he gained from Marns. “You can’t possibly know that.”

 

Dylan’s still staring at the envelope, hoping it catches on fire. His breath is getting faster with everyone he takes.

 

“Hey,” Connor says, voice steady and calm, “just sit down and take a deep breathe for me, okay?”

 

Dylan nods even though he knows Connor can’t see him. He sits down and inhales slow. He can hear Connor breathing with him, and they exhale together.

  
  


“I know it’s nerve wracking. I was so nervous during the draft week, my hands were all sweaty and Mitch wouldn’t stop laughing at me,” Connor recalls. Dylan tries to remember what he saw on tv about Connor’s draft.

  
  


“You knew for sure though that you would be first,” Dylan says, trying to even out his breathing.

  
  


“Nothing is set in stone. Even if I have a contract with a team, I can always be traded,” Connor says.

  
  


Dylan raises an eyebrow at that. “Don’t you have a no move clause?” he questions, curious.

  
  


“Nevermind that. If this letter is giving you this hard of a time maybe you should get someone else to open it?” Connor suggests.

 

Dylan can still hear people shouting and singing in Connor’s background. He flushes, feeling bad at taking Connor away from such a celebration.

  
  


“I’m sorry. You should be having fun with your team and not suffering through this with me,” Dylan murmurs.

 

The whole thing is stupid. Dylan’s a prince. He’s going to be responsible for a whole country when he ascends to the throne and yet he can’t even open a college letter?

  
  


“Hey, no. It’s ok. Don’t worry about it. There really isn’t anywhere else I wanna be but talking to you,” Connor says, trying to sound reassuring. It shouldn’t work but it does.

  
  


Dylan sighs, “Well, i’m sorry for taking up your time over something small.”

  
  


“Like I said, don’t worry about it. I don’t mind,” Connor says again.

  
  


“Ok,” Dylan says, still a little unsure. “I’m going to open it.”

  
  


“You sure?” Connor asks.

  
  


“Yeah,” Dylan confirms.

  
  


He puts his phone down and turns it to speaker phone. The letter’s still there, on top of his desk, waiting.

 

Taking a deep breath, Dylan wills himself to calm down. It’s just a letter. Even if it affects the future, there’s going to be other things.

 

He grabs it and slowly starts opening it carefully, making sure to not destroy the envelope.

  
  


With one hand on the envelope, and the other on the letter inside, Dylan stops. No turning back now. He pulls out the letter and grabs it with both hands.

 

He’s shaking, he realizes, but he’s doing it. He can do this. He unfolds the letter and scans its contents before finding what he’s looking for.

  
  


“Dyls?” Connor says, voice sounding muffled over the speakerphone.“Are you still there? You okay?” Connor asks concerned.

  
  


“I got in,” Dylan says, not really believing it.

  
  


“You got in! You did it! Again!” Connor yells enthusiastically.

  
  


“I got in. I got in. I got in,” Dylan says again, over and over, until he believes the words in the letter.

  
  


“You did it, Dyls,” Connor says, more subdued this time, as if realizing that Dylan still didn’t fully believe it.

  
  


“I’m proud of you. So proud of you. I knew you could do it and you’re gonna do great,” Connor says.

 

Even if it’s over the phone, he can practically feel Connor’s warmth right now. Dylan can imagine the ghost of Connor’s hand over his, and he wishes he wasn’t so far away.

 

“You know what would be a good going away to college present?” Dylan says, smiling.

 

“What?” Connor says, obliging him.

 

“The Stanley Cup,” Dylan says encouragingly. Connor laughs and Dylan’s smile gets even bigger.

 

“You gotta win it for me now,” Dylan jokes.

 

“I was already planning to,” Connor says, and then, just a second later, “Knock on wood please, can’t take any chances this time of year.”

 

Dylan laughs and does so. He can hear Connor’s knocks over the phone and screams of Connor’s name.

 

“Sounds like the cavalry has arrived,” Dylan notes. Connor hums in agreement and Dylan finds himself unwilling to let go.

 

Yet, he says, “I’m letting you go. Enjoy your playoff spot. Celebrate. Get some rest.” Dylan instructs, sounding more and more like his mom everyday. His mom is one of the coolest and best people Dylan knows so he doesn’t particularly mind.

 

Connor laughs, “I will, mom.”

  
  


Dylan snorts but he really hopes Connor doesn’t see him as any sort of parental or familial figure.

 

That’d be awkward considering Dylan wants to do things with him no family member should do to each other. Dylan sighs as he hears the dial tone and waits for a moment, in the silence of his room, before he gets up to spread the news.

  
  


**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

  
  


As the Stanley Cup Playoffs progress, the Oilers move forward. So do the Leafs.

 

Dylan, in between preparing for college, public appearances, and lessons, manages to catch some games. He’s secretly hoping one of them bows down soon because he doesn’t think he can root against either team if they ever went up against each other in the Finals.

  
  


Life really likes to watch Dylan squirm because that is exactly what happens, come May.

  
  


“Take me to a Stanley Cup Final game,” is the first thing Auston says when Dylan answers his call.  

 

He rolls his eyes. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Auston was just using him. Oh wait, he is. “A please would be nice.”

  
  


“Please,” Auston says obligingly.

  
  


“Why can’t you just go to one yourself? It’s not like you lack the money for a ticket, or the resource to go to a game” Dylan replies. His schedule doesn’t look too bad, and Dylan wonders if it’s because the schedule has changed, or if Dylan himself has.

  
  


It’s probably both.

  
  


“Just because I can, doesn’t mean I should. My parents don’t care but everyone else wonders why I can’t like ‘American’ sports more,” Auston sounds annoyed. He probably is.

  
  


“You go to literally every single sporting event,” Dylan says matter of fact.

  
  


“Why would I go to a final without an American team on it?” Auston replies. He’s beginning to sound desperate, and Dylan’s tempted to say no just to see what he’d do.

  
  


“I’ll ask my mom,” Dylan says, and Auston whoops over the phone. Technically, he hasn’t confirmed but apparently asking counts as a win in Auston’s book.

  
  


“You owe me so much, dude,” Dylan says half joking.

  
  


Auston replies solemnly and sounding very serious, “I do.”

  
  


“Alright, I’ll let you know what she says.” Dylan says as he hangs up. His aides come up and Dylan goes with them, another day of royal duties to oversee.

  
  


**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

  
  


“Why did you invite so many people?” Dylan asks, reading over the guest list once more.

  
  


“It’s Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals and we have to showcase Canada’s winter sport,” his mom replies, looking straight at him.

  
  


That’s what Dylan told her when he said he wanted to invite Auston. He just didn’t think she’d invite others too.

  
  


“Prince Gabriel of Sweden, Prince Alexander of Russia, Prince Patrik of Finland. Mom, I don’t know any of these people.” Dylan confesses looking at her, nervous.

  
  


“It’s time you should. Don’t worry, you know Prince Auston,” his mom says, placing her hand on top of his.

  
  


It should comfort Dylan but now all it does is make him even more nervous.

  
  


“I barely know how to act like royalty around non royals, what about other royals?” Dylan asks, worried, and not making much sense.

 

He’s starting to ramble, talking about everything he’s been bottling up for months such as the stress of his lessons, his college plans, and the things people say about him in the media.

 

“Oh Dylan,” mom says, sitting down next to him on the couch. Dylan’s ramblings come to stop and he finds it hard to breathe.

 

“I know it’s hard. It wasn’t something I prepared you for because I never thought we’d be here, where we are right now.” his mom admits, holding him close. Dylan feels his heart rate slow. His mom shares her warmth with him and he feels protected.

 

“When your uncle had Henry and Holly, I was so relieved because I knew the crown wouldn’t fall on you boys. I never wanted the pressure to be something you felt. Then the accident took them, and your grandma passed, and we were the only ones left.” She’s looking at him now, eye to eye, and Dylan has never seen his mom look this vulnerable before.

 

“I’m so proud of you for stepping up. I know taking Ryan’s place wasn’t easy. For me, taking your uncle’s place as heir was hard. Then I was taking my mom’s, your grandma’s, place as Queen, and it was much harder. But you,” his mom pauses, pinching his cheeks, and he feels five again.

 

“You make it look easy. You’re going to college! All I ever really wanted for you boys was a sense of normalcy, and you’re doing it even when you have to do all this. I am so proud of you. I am always here for you, okay? Don’t worry about what other royals think of you, or what major the media thinks you should take, it doesn’t matter. What matters is what you think of yourself, okay?” his mom asks, finishing.

 

Dylan’s blinking rapidly, willing the wetness to go away as he nods. His eyes are just sweaty, and he’s totally not about to cry. His mom smiles at him as she gives him a hug. Her hugs are always warm and full of love.

 

He smiles even though his mom can’t see it.

 

He’ll be okay.

  
  


**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

  
  


“You know, I never really understood why Dukes and other nobles are allowed to play hockey and yet we, the Princes, can’t,” Auston says sitting next to him.

  
  


Dylan bit his lip to stop himself from saying anything sarcastic.It wouldn’t bode well for him to say anything that would damage Canada’s sterling, friendly boy next door reputation.

 

Auston sighs, and turns to him.

 

Dylan keeps his focus on the ice below them, watching the Leafs and the Oilers warm up for what is shaping up to be one of the most indecisive games in hockey history.

 

There was no clear cut opinion on who would win as the two teams had basically won then lost or lost then won. Neither team ever really gained the upper hand which is why Dylan and his family were all here right now, sitting at the royal box with other royals from other hockey loving countries, waiting to watch the game that would decide who would, once and for all, win this year’s Stanley Cup.

 

“Princes can play hockey. Look at Ryan,” Dylan says, settling for fact rather than giving away his opinion.

 

“No one is going to sue you for saying you think you should be doing something else rather than being a prince. Also, you know what I meant,” Auston says, and yeah, Dylan knows what he means.

 

Dukes and other nobles don’t have as much of an affect to the country as royals do and that’s why everyone’s okay with them playing.

 

Ryan gets a pass because he’d done it before he knew. If Dylan did it then everyone would question his devotion to the crown and the country. It’d probably work out in the end but it’d be a mess and a hell of a headache to deal with.

 

Before he knows it, Auston’s leaning on Dylan’s shoulder.

  
  


“Wanna bet?” he continues, breath warm on Dylan’s ear.

  
  


If anyone were to look at their direction right now, it’d look like Auston was telling Dylan a secret.

  
  


Thankfully, Prince Alexander of Russia was keeping everyone busy with his jokes and opinions.

  
  


“No need. Connor’s gonna win it,” Dylan replies, just as he finds Connor on the ice.

 

He flinches as Auston laughs, loud and right in his ear.

  
  


“It’s just Connor now, eh?” Auston teases, grinning. Dylan hopes he isn’t turning red. He really should find some way to stop that.

  
  


“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me,” Auston says, returning to an upright position and staring out into the ice.

  
  


“If anything happens to Mitch, I’ll do much worse than just ban you from Canada,” Dylan warns.

  
  


Auston looks at him and his gaze is warm and steady. “If I ever hurt Mitch, I’d let you do much worse than just ban me from Canada. I’d even turn myself in,” Auston says easily.

  
  


Dylan knows he means it, and even if they both know that isn’t going to happen in real life (it’d be one bureaucratic nightmare) the thought comforts Dylan just a little bit.

  
  


He nods. He doesn’t fully understand Mitch and Auston’s relationship, if it should even be classified as one, but he’d support Mitch even if he decided to marry dabbing (which, knowing Mitch, was a real big possibility).

  
  


“How’d you meet him anyway?” Dylan questions out loud. It’s something that’s been nagging at him and he’s honestly surprised he’d held out this long.

  
  


Auston gives him a look like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “Dude, you were right there.”

  
  


Dylan frowns, “I know that. I just meant, why’d you want to meet him so badly?”

  
  


Auston turns away and Dylan gets it.

  
  


He’ll wait.

  
  


Auston’ll come around eventually.

  
  


The seats around the stadium fill up and the speakers boom to announce the players.

  
  


“I went to Switzerland to play hockey which is where I met Willy Nylander, a Duke of Sweden. Long story short, we became good enough friends that he invited me to watch a tournament he was in and Mitch was there. He seemed like just another guy on the ice, you know? But then I went round back to talk to Willy and then he stopped being just another guy on the ice,” Auston says over the announcers.

 

Dylan can tell he’s holding something back, but he knows what Auston means. Mitch makes people feel a certain way even if you hadn’t even spoken a word to him.

  
  


Connor made Dylan feel a certain way even before they met, which, now that Dylan thinks about seems creepy but only goes to show what kind of person Connor is.

  
  


It makes Dylan wonder if he’s ever disappointed anyone by not meeting their expectations. He tells Auston this who snorts at him. “If we worry about meeting other people’s expectations of us all the time, we wouldn’t be effective at governing the country.”

  
  


“I know,” Dylan pauses, gathering his thoughts before continuing, “on a personal level would you say that you’re disappointed by the real me?”

  
  


“What’s this really about?” Auston asks through the loud cheers surrounding them as the Leafs score a goal.

  
  


“Nothing just -”

  
  


“Little Princes!”someone yells as a hand firmly pats Dylan and Auston’s backs.

  
  


Dylan turns and sees Prince Alexander of Russia looming over him and Auston.

  
  


“Hello, Prince Alexander,” Auston says cordially. Dylan doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this sullen.

  
  


“Ah, little prince, what did I say? Call me Ovi! We’re all family here.” Prince Alexander says, leaning forward in his seat and coming in closer than Dylan thought possible.

  
  


Dylan clears his throat as Prince Alexander, no, Ovi even though it seemed weird to call him that, gets close enough for Dylan to breathe on.

  
  


“Oh, sorry!” Prince Ovi exclaims, leaning back into his seat and taking his face far away from Dylan’s face.

  
  


“So busy talking, not watch game so I watch with you,” Prince Ovi declares, hands on the back of their seats.

  
  


Dylan doesn’t think he wants to know what kind of look he has on face but he hopes it doesn’t offend anybody. Auston just looks amused.

  
  


Almost like a magnet, Prince Ovi’s presence and, surprisingly good and detail oriented commentary on the game attracts the other royalty who chime in and debate with him about whether certain actions should’ve been fouled or not.

  
  


The game is intense, just like Dylan knew it would be, and his heart can’t stop hammering even though he’s been sitting down the whole time.

 

He’s glad Ovi came because watching Connor play is infinitely better than getting stuck in his head over things that may not even be true. He and Auston even go at it with Ovi over which players have improved and how those who need improving could go about doing it.

  
  


It’s nice to just sit and talk about hockey. It makes him feel normal, makes it seem as though he’s never stopped loving the game, which Dylan now realizes is true because no matter everything, hockey had always been there for him when nothing else was.

  
  


Connor scores a beautiful goal that ties it up, one Dylan is sure he’ll see even when his eyes are closed.

 

It’s surreal watching him play. It never gets old, and it always seems like he’s on a different dimension. Maybe that’s what Stanley Cup finals hockey will do to you: transport you to a different dimension where your hockey levels up, like a video game.

  
  


“You think he’ll make it?” Auston asks, quiet, staring straight at Connor’s form as he weaves in and out of the ice.

  
  


“Shhh,” Dylan hushes, leaning forward in his seat. He’s tapping his leg, anxious. “You’ll jinx Marns.”

  
  


Auston laughs, “Canadians. So superstitious.”

  
  


Dylan raised his hand and swats Auston’s shoulder. “Go knock on wood!”

  
  


“Whose team are you on anyway?” Auston asks as he goes up to one of the tables in the box and knocks.

  
  


Dylan shrugs, “It’s a win - win for me.”

  
  


“But you’d prefer it if a certain team won right?” Auston teases, sitting back down.

  
  


Dylan doesn’t even look at him, or acknowledge him. Agreeing would prove Auston right, denying would egg Auston on.

  
  


“Is ok little prince, win or lose players happy to see you, yeah?” Ovi says, patting his head.

  
  


Dylan feels like a little child around him and he’s unnervingly ok with it.

  
  


“Has anyone ever told you that you act like a Dad?” Dylan says, looking up at Ovi who laughs and pats his head even more.

  
  


“Isn’t dad in Russian ‘papi’?” Auston asks, curious.

  
  


“Papa! But close, good job little princes,” Ovi corrects.

  
  


“Did we miss much?” Prince Gabriel asks as he and Prince Patrik return to their seats. Dylan hasn’t interacted with them much before today but he’s glad his mom invited him. She was right, he knows now, he needs to interact with more royalty so he stops being afraid of royalty. Everyone has something that they can learn from the others.

 

“Not really. Couple of close calls, i think a powerplay is starting,” Auston replies, filling them in.

  
  


“Yeah? For what?” Prince Patrik asks, trying to get back in the game.

  
  


“Goalie Interference,” both he and Auston say at the same time.

Prince Patrik snorts. “Do the refs even know what goalie interference is? Actually, don’t answer that, it’s always going to be a no.”

  
  


Dylan laughs. It’s nice to watch hockey with people who get it and actually know what’s going on instead of him explaining it the whole time.

  
  


“Ten minutes left, will one of them break the tie, you think?” Prince Gabriel asks, looking up at the jumbotron.

  
  


“I don’t think my heart can handle an overtime,” Dylan admits sheepishly.

  
  


Prince Gabriel laughs, “Yeah, I don’t think mine can either.”

  
  


“Y’all are weak,” Auston teases. Dylan rolls his eyes at him as everyone laughs.

  
  


Dylan looks at Connor on the bench who, looks straight back.

  
  


_ Where’s my present? _ Dylan mouths. He isn’t sure if Connor will get it, but Connor’s smiling so Dylan thinks he did?

  
  


The line changes and Connor jumps the bench and skates away. It blows Dylan away every time he watches him just how fast Connor is on the ice.

  
  


“Dude, what’d you say to him?” Auston asks, leaning in close and whispering to Dylan.

  
  


“Don’t worry about it,” Dylan responds, trying to brush him off.

  
  


“He’s playing like a man possessed,” Auston says, a little accusingly.

  
  


Dylan gives him a look. “It’s Stanley Cup Finals hockey.”

  
  


Auston gives him a look back. Agree to disagree, Dylan surmises.

  
  


He turns his focus back to the game, watching the puck as it moves from one stick to the another. He looks at how fast everyone is skating as the the clock winds down to twenty seconds, and he hears the roar of the crowd as Connor taps the puck into the net.

  
  


Everyone gets on their feet as the buzzer rings but Dylan stays still, evening out his breathing, transfixed on Connor’s smile.

  
  


He actually did it, Dylan thinks, Connor actually won the cup.

  
  


“I can’t believe i’ll have to listen to Mitch bitch about losing the cup.” Dylan says as he stands up next to Auston and claps.

  
  


“Hey, maybe this will finally motivate him to move to another continent,” Auston says jokingly.

  
  


“That isn’t even remotely close to being funny,” Dylan whines.

  
  


The teams finish shaking and the cameras pan to the royal box. Dylan doesn’t think there’s anything to see, just people lucky enough to win the genetic lottery who try their best to do right by their countries, in fancy suits, clapping. 

 

He squirms under the camera, with everyone's eyes on him, but when he smiles, it's genuine. 

 

The camera pans away eventually, when Bettman comes out with the Cup. Auston claps his back, "I'm gonna go head out and see Mitch for a bit, that ok?" 

  
  


"Yeah," Dylan agrees, "Console him in his loss. I'll see you later."

  
  


"Don't forget your curfew," Auston winks as he walks away.

  
  


"We aren't even like that!" Dylan yells after him, embarrassed and beginning to turn red.

  
  


"Your majesty," Joe starts, coming up to him. "Are we staying?" 

  
  


Dylan looks at the ice, at the players passing around the cup, lifting it high. "No. They have their own celebrations. We'll see them when they come to palace for a visit, anyway."

  
  


"If you say so, your majesty," Joe replies. Dylan can't even find it in him to say anything so he just stares at the floor, furiously willing his face to not be as red as he thinks it is.

  
  


As they exit the box, he catches his reflection on some glass and yeah, he's red. Damn Auston.

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

Dylan's barely stepped foot in the palace when his phone rings.

  
  


"Hello?" Dylan answers, forgetting to check the caller id as he makes his way to his room.

  
  


He's loosening his tie when the person responds, "Where'd you go?"

  
  


"Connor?" Dylan asks, tossing his tie and blazer into the hamper. "Shouldn't you be out celebrating with your team?"

  
  


"I've got your going away to college present and you're not even here to enjoy it," Connor says, sullen. 

  
  


"I'll see it when the team comes to the palace for the official visit," Dylan says, sitting down on his bed.

  
  


"That's not the point, Dyls. I wanna spend time with my two favorite people at the same time: you and Stanley," Connor argues. "Come over. Our flight isn't leaving until tomorrow evening."

  
  
  


Dylan raises an eyebrow, "Why is your flight so late?"

  
  
  


"So we'd have time to either celebrate the win or mourn the loss. No one wants to fly hungover," Connor explains, "If Mitch is coming out, you should too."

  
  
  


Dylan frowns, "I don't want to intrude," he admits.

  
  
  


"You celebrating with me is the farthest thing from intruding," Connor replies. He pauses and Dylan can hear his breathing quicken over the phone before he continues, "You don't have to come tonight if you really don't want to - I know it's getting late and you probably don't want to be around people getting drunk, but, i'd really like to see you before we leave for Edmonton."

  
  
  


"Okay," Dylan agrees. "Okay?" Connor questions. 

  
  
  


"I can't celebrate with you tonight but if you come to the palace tomorrow before your flight, it should work," Dylan says, thinking it over. 

  
  
  


"Ok. I have to go - " Connor responds, the cheering and the music in the background getting louder, "but i'll see you, ok?" 

  
  


"Ok, have fun and stay safe," Dylan wishes as Connor hangs up. 

  
  


He plugs in his phone and lies down. Just as he does, his phone pings with a text. Groaning, Dylan turns over and pulls it up.

  
  


PrinceOfArizona: What did you do

Dyls: ???

PrinceOfArizona: Connor is hella sad

Dyls: why? what happened???

PrinceOfArizona: why do you think im asking you 

Dyls: idk but go make him happy

Dyls: he deserves to be happy

PrinceOfArizona: you make him happy

Dyls: you dont know that

PrinceOfArizona: why are you so dumb sometimes

Dyls: stfu so are you

PrinceOfArizona: yeah, i am

Dyls: use protection!

PrinceOfArizona: wtf we're not even like that

Dyls: neither are me and connor

PrinceOfArizona: *connor and I

Dyls: im so done with you rn

PrinceOfArizona: its ok, i dont think marleau or martin like me very much

Dyls: HAHAHAHA

 

Closing out of the thread, Dylan opens his chat with Connor, he doesn't know if he should take Auston seriously when he said that Connor was sad but, better safe than sorry.

 

Dyls: dont be sad

Dyls: be happy ok you deserve this

Dyls: don't let anyone tell you otherwise

Dyls: i'm proud of you and happy for you

 

Sighing, Dylan pulled on the covers and closed his eyes. Whenever he hung out with people, he felt like he was a battery that constantly needed to be recharged. For an introvert like him, and he actually is one, not just shy or whatever else people say, today was a long day but tomorrow would be different. He could feel it.

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

  
  
  
  
  


Dylan awoke to his phone ringing. He didn't set an alarm for a reason.

  
  


Frowning, he picked it up from his nightstand and tried to turn it off only to find that it wasn't his alarm. 

  
  


It was a call.

  
  


A call from Connor McDavid.

  
  


A call from Connor McDavid at 5 in the morning.

  
  


"Connor?" He asked groggily, "It's 5 in the morning. Are you okay?" 

  
  


"Did you mean it?" Connor said quickly. "What?" Dylan asked, confused.

  
  


"The- the text. Do I really make you ha-happy and proud?" Connor said, stumbling through the words.

  
  


"Of course," Dylan confirmed, still half asleep.

  
  


"Do you think you could let me in?" Connor asked. That woke Dylan up.

  
  


"You're outside?" Dylan asked in disbelief.

  
  


Connor started, "Yeah, sorry, I know it's super early but -" 

  
  


"No, don't be sorry. Of course i'll let you in,” Dylan replied, getting up. He puts on a sweater and is slipping on his shoes when Connor hangs up. 

  
  


A knock comes through his door and Dylan opens it. It’s Joe, phone in hand. 

  
  


“What’s up?” Dylan asks, grabbing his phone to ask Connor where he was. 

  
  


“Connor McDavid is here to see you, Sir,” Joe says. Dylan pauses, cancels his text and walks past him.

  
  


“Where is he?” Dylan asks, scanning the halls. Not seeing him, Dylan turns back to Joe. 

  
  


“He is outside, sir,” Joe says, looking tired. It’s only then Dylan remembers that it’s only 5 in the morning. There’s a pause before Joe continues,“Would you like us to let him in, your highness?” 

  
  


Dylan feels a little bad that Joe T has to deal with him during these unkind hours instead of Joe P who is more used to Dylan’s spur of the moment melodrama. 

  
  


“Yes, please. I can meet with him in the sitting room,” Dylan responds, having almost said his bedroom before he remembers that he is still a prince and he still has to pretend to have at least some decorum.

 

Besides, Dylan’s sure Connor’s not even remotely interested in seeing the contents of his bedroom. Dylan wouldn’t even dare let Connor in until he’s at least taken the poster down. 

  
  


Joe nods and walks away towards a couple of guards who will let Connor in. 

  
  


Dylan sighs, still a little tired, and starts walking to the sitting room.

  
  


He takes a seat and feels his eyes get heavy. Everything feels as though it’s slowing down and just -

  
  


“Dylan?” a voice calls out.

  
  


A voice that sounds a lot like Connor.

  
  


Dylan opens his eyes and standing right before him is a dream come true.

  
  


Connor is standing in front of him and he’s wringing his hands together, nervously, face flushed.

  
  


“Hey,” Dylan answers, “What’s up? You okay?” 

  
  


“Yeah, i’m- i’m fine,” Connor nods, coming closer. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come to see you at 5 in the morning.”

  
  


Dylan waves him off. “Dude, it’s fine. I already told you, don’t be sorry. If I didn’t want you here I wouldn’t have let you in.”

  
  


Connor takes a deep breath before he kneels in front of Dylan’s chair. He’s taken aback, why is Connor kneeling?

  
  
“You know we don’t kneel anymore, right?” Dylan says with a nervous laugh. He doesn’t want Connor to feel as though he has any obligation to do anything with Dylan

“You don’t -” 

 

“Have to. I know. I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do, Dylan,” Connor says, cutting him off. 

  
  


Dylan’s looking at him now, really looking, wide awake. He knows Connor had a big night; he’s 100% sure that Connor drank alcohol and just came from celebrating with his team but -

 

Connor doesn’t look like he’s under the influence, if anything he looks nervous, really nervous, before a Stanley Cup Final Game nervous.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dylan whispers, concerned. Did anything happen? He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Connor so shaken and fazed before.

 

Connor nods, “I have something really important to tell you. It - it couldn’t wait, or well, I couldn’t wait. If I didn’t tell you now I doubt i’d ever have the courage to tell you later so, here it goes. Listen closely, ok?”    
  


Dylan is tense, nervous and even though Connor told him that he was alright, Dylan is still concerned. 

“I’m in love with my best friend.” Connor says, looking right at him.

  
  


Dylan stops, and stares at Connor. The light from the ceiling to floor windows bounce off him, casting a halo all around him as the sun rises up.

  
  


Dylan’s doesn’t think he’s ever looked at anything so beautiful and felt more sad in his life.

  
  


Then, Connor pauses, and says, “You’re my best friend.”

  
  


And Dylan feels the air get knocked out of him because really, who would want to sign up and deal with this?

  
  


“I don’t think you realize what you’re saying.” Dylan responds, hands shaking.

  
  


Connor looks at him, brown eyes staring into his own and really, It’s all too much. 

  
  


Dylan can’t feel himself breathe, can’t hear anything other than his heart racing.

  
  


“I love you.” Connor says earnestly. Connor’s hands cups his own, and it fills Dylan’s whole body with warmth.

  
  


Connor knocks his head against his and closes his eyes. “Dylan,” he starts, “I need you to breathe, okay?”

  
  


Dylan nods and he closes his eyes, slowly, he takes in air, then, he lets it out.

  
  


Dylan’s always had a hard time breathing whenever he’s processing something. It’s like his brain’s too busy trying to understand what’s going on to remember that the rest of his body needs air too and yet, here with Connor, with his hands around his, breathing has never felt easier.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to LottieAnna for giving me the confidence to publish this and being my beta reader. I don't know what I would've done without you or your stories that continuously feed my fanfiction addiction.
> 
> Thank you for reading! It has been a real work in progress and it has truly been a passion project.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @whoneedsgeorge 
> 
> RANDOM TIDBITS
> 
> \- Willy Nylander is a Duke of Sweden 
> 
> \- Willy Nylander was supposed to be the Prince of Sweden but I saw an interview with Gabe Landeskog talking Sweden up to his teammates when they went there and his love for it was too much for even I to overcome
> 
> \- Dylan used to play peewee hockey (hence, how he met Mitch) but had to quit shortly after he was drafted to play with the Otters (therefore, not meeting Connor back then)
> 
> \- Dylan's bodyguards are all composed of Sharks players, ok, you caught me. 
> 
> \- Sidney Crosby is not royalty in any shape, way, or form. Although, he did get knighted. 
> 
> \- Jonathan Toews is salty that Sidney Crosby got knighted before him (even if he won three cups first and had a lake named after him)
> 
> \- Alexander Ovechkin is good friends with every Russian in the NHL because it's Ovi, he knows everyone.
> 
> \- When Ryan Nugent-Hopkins and Mikey McLeod meet, all they do is talk about how stupid both Connor and Dylan are and hope their stupidity cancels the other out. In those exact words.
> 
> \- Joe T and Joe P do not hate Dylan nor do they hate his melodrama. They saw him grow up and care deeply for him. However, it does not stop them from making bets with the other royal guards about Dylan and Connor. 
> 
> \- Queen Trish also participated in these bets. So did Matt (who won).


End file.
